When Will I See Paris
by HogwartsAsWeKnowIt
Summary: While the rest of the Avengers are perfectly fine living in the Stark Tower together, Natasha and Steve find it difficult. One night, they share their dreams and secrets over the phone, while sleep is the last thing on their mind. (Stasha, one-shot)


**When Will I See Paris**

**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Marvel. If I did, I'd be a billionaire like Tony Stark. But I'm not. I'm a fangirl who's life has been ruined by the Avengers. There's a difference._

_I wrote this at 1 in the morning with a dying laptop. Judge me all you want._

_Please enjoy my lovey-dovey Stasha as I sit here half-asleep._

_Rated T because what the hell? I'm writing it._

_Inspired by the movie, Elizabethtown with Orlando Bloom._

_After Iron Man 3, before Thor 2_

* * *

A year after the Battle of New York, Director Fury told the Avengers to pack their bags and assemble in Stark Tower, their new home. Most of the time, not everyone was there. Thor was often busy kicking alien ass, Clint and Natasha had their duties to SHIELD, Tony had a multi-billion company to run, Banner was busy with his science experiments, and Steve...well, he was Captain America.

This was true such as now. There were only three Avengers home: Steve, Natasha, and Bruce. For the most part, they stayed out of eachother's way; they all had things to do when they wanted and where they pleased. Cap had spent the majority of the day training, Bruce had been sciencing, and Natasha was busy trying to hack into Stark's computer, just for the fun of it. It was also a test if they needed to upgrade software security.

But midnight came and went, and things began to settle down. Dr. Banner was watching the nightly news in the common room, Rogers was taking a shower (a rather long one may I add), and Romanoff had gone to bed. When Steve crawled into to bed at around 1, he took out his drawing pad and began to sketch. Although he had started it a few days ago, he hadn't had much time to work on it except late at night, such as now. Even though Steve was an extroidinary artist with extreme talent, the current drawing was proving to be a little difficult. Okay, a LOT difficult.

Rogers was attempting to draw Peggy, his love from way back when. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't perfect her beauty; how can you draw someone with a loving heart and stern mouth? Someone with a soft side, but also someone who could take down thirty soldiers by herself? He had completed her clothing and figure. The outline of her head and hair was complete, but it was almost painful for him to draw her face. It was pressuring to try and sketch something so flawless with a simple pencil. For a while, he just stared at it, contemplating.

It was around 2 when the phone ringed.

He had been startled and jumped, then quickly recovered himself and picked up.

"Steve Rogers," he greeted, clearing his throat. _Who would be calling at such an hour?_

_"Steve, I can't sleep."_

Cap recognized the voice immediently. Natasha.

Surprised at being called by a woman, the Black Widow in particular, at such a time and prediciment, he didn't exactly know what to say at first. He attempted to relax and ease up a bit.

"Why? What's wrong Nat?"

_"I don't know. I just can't sleep. I didn't wake you did I?"_

"No, you didn't. Do you want me to come down? We're only two ceilings away."

_"Why don't we just talk on the phone? I notice you aren't as shy on the phone."_

"Shy? I seem shy to you?"

_"Whenever you're around women you get a little...jittery."_

"I've been rejected so many times... And I've been raised to be a gentleman. Just trying to be polite, ya know."

_"Honorable. That's rare nowadays."_

"I've noticed."

_"Were all men like that in the forties?"_

"Most. There were plenty of jerks too."

_"You really need to update your insults. A 'jerk' is what a two year old would call his brother in a fight over a toy."_

Steve chuckled, sliding down deeper under his covers. "What should I call them then? The people that used to beat me up?"

_"Depends. Little pieces of sh-"_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm not going to use the 'S-word' unless I need to?"

She giggled. _"The S-word? Did you seriously just say that?"_

"What's wrong?"

_"So old-fashioned," _she paused. _"I like it."_

"You do?"

_"Yeah Steve. I do."_

"Most people don't. They say I'm-"

_"What, different? Outdated? That's because there's too many Tony Starks in the world."_

"There's too many Tony Starks in the world..." he repeated. "I need a Tshirt with that on it."

_"Haha! So do I!"_

"All the Avengers should wear them. Do you think we could get an XXXXXXXL for Hulk?"

_"We could paint it on him."_

"I'm not sure how well that'd work out."

_"Better then trying to get a Tshirt over his head."_

"That's debateable."

They were silent for a little while, each getting lost in their own complex, deep minds.

_"What do you dream about?" _Natasha's soft voice broke the silence.

"Me?"

_"No, I'm asking the chair. Of course you!"_

"The past. Going back. Everything, _everyone _that I've lost."

_"If you had the choice, would you go back?"_

"That's hard to say. I have so much here now. It's like my heart's been ripped in half. One part I left behind in 1943. With Bucky, Peggy, the Army. And another part is here with the Avengers. And you."

_"Me?"_

"No, I'm talking to the bed," he smirked.

_"Oh. Well, it should feel honored."_

"What about you?"

_"Being completely cleared. Not being known in Russia as a serial killer."_

"I don't think of you as a killer. I think of you as a highly trained spy that knows how to kick butt and save the world."

_"That makes two of us."_

"Don't you find it funny that everyone dreams about going to Paris and London and all these places? They even desire New York, which we basically walk around in everyday and find it absolutely boring, normal. All those travel destination spots. I've never been to Paris. We should go to Paris!"

_"We should! We can each steal one of Tony's jets and get the hell out of here. You and me, a week alone in France!"_

"Wouldn't that be fun? Except we'd probably be in trouble when we got back."

_"Oh screw it. We'll throw crumpets at them."_

"Crumpets? Crumpets are British, ya know, London and all that?"

Laughing for a while, Natasha recollected herself and responded. _"It's 2 in the morning. Cut me some slack."_

"Yes, ma'am."

_"I thought we were on first name basis a second ago."_

"We still are, Nat. Don't worry."

_"Haha, good. I like it when you use names instead of sir and ma'am and all that fancy stuff."_

"Fancy? I wouldn't call it fancy."

_"Formal then. It's formal."_

"I agree."

Once again, it was quiet.

_"Steve?"_

"Yeah?"

_"Can I come sleep with you?"_

"The bed would be honored."

Before she arrived, Cap gently turned the page on his drawing pad, opening to a fresh page. And Steve began to draw her hourglass figure, luscious red curls, and breathtaking face. Natasha Romanoff began to take shape on his paper.


End file.
